by Donald Keene
Hanabusa gave orders to burn the legation. His secretary at once doused important documents with oil and set them afire. The flames quickly spread, and under cover of flames and smoke, Hanabusa and the others escaped through a rear gate. The Japanese fled to the harbor, where they boarded a boat that took them down the Han River to In’chon. At first they took refuge with the In’chon commandant, but when word arrived of the events in Seoul, the attitude of their hosts changed, and the Japanese realized they were no longer safe. They escaped to the harbor in a driving rain, pursued by Korean soldiers. Six Japanese were killed, and another five were seriously wounded. The survivors, carrying the wounded, boarded a small boat and headed for the open sea. Three days later they were rescued by a British surveyor ship, the Flying Fish.21
On July 24, the day after the attack on the Japanese legation, the rioters forced their way into the royal palace. They found and killed Min Kyom-ho as well as a dozen other high-ranking officers. They searched for Queen Min, intending to kill her both because she belonged to the hated Min family and because they knew the corrupt government was completely under her control. The queen narrowly escaped, dressed as an ordinary court lady and carried on the back of a faithful guard who claimed she was his sister.22
The one member of the royal family on the side of the rioters was the taewon’gun,23 the father of the king. He hated the Min family, which had deprived him of his power over the throne. The hapless king, now that Queen Min was not there to guide him, was again dependent on his father. He asked his father to return, and the taewon’gun joyfully resumed his former post after nine years of exile. Among his first acts were to order a state funeral for Queen Min, who was presumed to have died in the attack on the palace, and to abolish the modern, Japanese-trained army unit.
It may be imagined the indignation with which the news of these events was received after Hanabusa’s return to Japan. Inoue Kaoru called a special session of the cabinet on August 30. The emperor commanded Inoue to go to Shimonoseki to take charge of the crisis. He also commanded Rear Admiral Nirei Kagenori to proceed with four warships, and Major General Takashima Tomonosuke to accompany him with a battalion of infantry, to Korea as an escort for Minister Resident Hanabusa when he returned to his post (and also to protect other Japanese who might be in Korea).
Inoue left Tōkyō on August 2. He met Hanabusa in Shimonoseki and gave him his instructions, which described the anger aroused by the outrages of the Korean ruffians and the affront to the reputation of the Japanese nation. The document blamed the Korean government for its laxness in suppressing these unruly elements. It had failed to attach sufficient importance to the relations that should prevail between neighboring countries. The Japanese nevertheless had judged, in view of Korean national feelings, that it was premature to send a punitive expedition. The minister would return to Seoul. He would be protected by army and navy units because there was no predicting what further violence might be unleashed by the rioters.
Hanabusa was commanded to meet with senior officials in Seoul and persuade them to set a date by which the rioters would be disposed of in a manner satisfactory to Japan. If the rioters were bold enough to make surprise attacks, Japan would feel compelled to use military force to subdue them, regardless of what measures the Korean government might take.
As yet there was no threat of war, but it was implicit. Hanabusa was instructed that if the Koreans showed any signs of hiding the culprits and not punishing them or if they refused to take part in the discussions demanded by the Japanese, this would constitute a clear breach of peace. In that case, the envoy would send a final letter to the Korean government indicting it for its crimes and then proceed without delay to Inch’on, along with army and navy forces that would occupy the port. On arrival in Inch’on, the envoy would at once send a detailed report to Tōkyō and await further orders. Hanabusa was advised that if China or any other nation offered to mediate, it should be refused. The instructions concluded on a surprisingly conciliatory note: the Japanese government did not consider that the Korean government had intentionally harmed peaceful relations. The envoy should therefore sincerely attempt to restore the traditional good relations between the two countries. The present incident might even provide a means of securing a lasting peace.24
Despite the optimism of these last remarks, the government authorized the call-up of reserves at the beginning of August. Inoue Kaoru notified ministers living in Tōkyō of the Japanese government’s decision to send troops and ships to Korea to protect Japanese citizens. He emphasized that the government’s intentions were entirely peaceful. An offer by the American government to mediate was, however, immediately declined.25 The emperor, worried about the situation, sent Chamberlain Yamaguchi Masasada to Korea as a personal envoy. He remained in Korea until the Treaty of Chemulp’o26 was signed.
While the Japanese and the Koreans were negotiating the terms of a treaty, there was much discussion in Japan concerning the urgent necessity to increase armaments. Proponents pointed out that the four warships sent to Korea constituted the entire Japanese navy, leaving not one ship to protect the country. Yamagata Aritomo presented a petition to the throne arguing in favor of armaments, recommending that the costs be met by increasing the taxes on cigarettes. On August 16 the emperor asked Iwakura for his recommendations. He replied that if China continued to consider Korea as a tributary state, war with China was inevitable. Iwakura said that it was essential that the armed forces be prepared for war and asked the emperor to issue secret instructions. On August 19 Yamagata sent Iwakura a letter expressing pleasure that Japan had been furnished with such a good opportunity to fight China.27
Hanabusa went on August 22 to the royal palace in Seoul, escorted by two companies of soldiers, to present the king of Korea with a list of Japanese demands. He gave the king three days to reply. The demands included the payment of 500,000 yen as an indemnity for the burning of the Japanese legation. The king ordered his government to reply within the allotted time, and the taewon’gun at once summoned a meeting of the cabinet. However, the cabinet members were so enraged by the unreasonable sum of money demanded by the Japanese (500,000 yen was about one-sixth of the Korean government’s total revenues) that no answer was forthcoming. Judging that it was unlikely the Koreans would comply with the Japanese demands, Hanabusa decided to leave for Inch’on. War seemed inevitable. As prescribed in his orders, he wrote a final message to the king before leaving Seoul. The king at once wrote Hanabusa, begging him to return, but Hanabusa did not change his mind. He had been irritated by a discourteous letter he had received from a member of the government named Hong Sun-mok, who declared that the Japanese need not have sent a special envoy to Korea.28 On August 25 Hanabusa reached Inch’on. The next day, a letter arrived from Hong stating his intention to resign his office and pleading for a further meeting. Hanabusa agreed to wait two days longer before sailing.
An unexpected complication in the situation was provided at this point by Queen Min, who, from her place of hiding, sent a letter to the king urging him to ask China, as the suzerain state, to send troops to Korea to put down the insurrection. The king, obedient as ever to Queen Min, sent men to Tientsin, where they met two high-ranking Korean officials stationed there. These officials traveled to Peking and transmitted to Li Hung-chang the king’s request for Chinese troops. Li did not hesitate: this was a golden opportunity to revive Chinese sovereignty over Korea, which had been much attenuated over the years.
A Chinese fleet of three warships and six merchant ships was ordered to leave at once for Korea. The ships, carrying 4,000 troops, were to rendezvous off Inch’on. With such forces the Chinese could easily have seized Inch’on, but they were under instructions from Li Hung-chang not to create any unnecessary incident with the Japanese. When the Chinese saw the Japanese warship Kongō in Inch’on harbor (it had arrived ahead of the other Japanese ships), they at first withdrew, but on August 22 they returned, and on the following day landed some 200 of their troops.
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The Chinese informed Hanabusa that they had come to put down a rebellion in their tributary state. Hanabusa, insisting that Korea was an independent country, said that the present tension between Japan and Korea was not China’s concern. The Chinese proposed that they cooperate in suppressing the rebellion, but Hanabusa replied that he was waiting for a reply to his ultimatum to Korea and that no other country should intervene.
The Chinese, resigned to Japanese unwillingness to cooperate, embarked on quite a different course of action. Their three highest naval officers paid a courtesy call on the taewon’gun. As they were leaving, they asked him to attend an important meeting at their camp. The taewon’gun was obliged by rules of etiquette to return the call and went the next day (September 26) as requested. There were the usual exchanges of politenesses between the Chinese and the Koreans, but at a signal (the lifting of a wine glass in a toast to the long life of the taewon’gun), Chinese troops burst into the room, seized the taewon’gun, and bundled him into a palanquin. He was carried off to the warship Wei-yüan and, still in the palanquin, was taken to China. He was not released from the palanquin until the ship reached Tientsin. There he was interrogated by Li Hung-chang, who tried unsuccessfully to make him admit responsibility for the rebellion. Li ordered the taewon’gun put back in his palanquin, and he was carried off to a town about sixty miles southwest of Peking. For three years he was confined to one room and kept under strict surveillance.29
Now that the taewon’gun, the most impressive figure in the government, could offer no resistance, the Korean government had no choice but to negotiate with the Japanese. On August 30 the Treaty of Chemulp’o was signed, officially ending the tension between Japan and Korea. It provided that (1) within twenty days the Korean government would arrest and punish the rioters who had killed the Japanese; (2) the Korean government would give proper funerals for the Japanese victims; (3) the Korean government would pay an indemnity of 50,000 yen to the families of the dead and wounded; (4) the Korean government would pay an indemnity of 500,000 yen for the damage done by the rioters to the Japanese legation and the costs of the expedition, to be paid in five annual installments of 100,000 yen each; and (5) the Japanese legation would henceforth be protected by “a few” soldiers.
Patriotic fervor had been aroused among the Japanese by the incident, with some men volunteering for military service or offering money for war expenses. Hanabusa returned to Yokohama on September 28 and traveled by special train to Tōkyō, where he was welcomed by a platoon of cavalry. At the palace he was given an audience by the emperor, who awarded Hanabusa the Order of the Rising Sun.
Deploring the recent unhappy incidents, King Kojong sent three high-ranking officials to express his apologies and to offer gifts. The emperor received Pak Yong-hyo, the senior Korean envoy, who offered a letter from the king conveying his admiration for the emperor’s glorious accomplishments and asking for peace and long friendship.30
On November 3 Lieutenant Horimoto and the other Japanese killed in Korea were enshrined in the Yasukuni Shrine. On November 17 the captain of the Flying Fish, which had rescued Hanabusa and other Japanese, was presented by the emperor with a pair of bronze vases and some books, including one on the ancient conquest of Korea. When Pak Song-hyo and his colleagues were about to leave Japan in December, the emperor received them in audience. Expressing regret over their departure, he asked them to convey his feelings of friendship to the king. He also gave them 500 guns for the king, no doubt a hint that he hoped they would be used to put down any future rebellions. Pak said that nothing was more needed than guns and he was sure that the king would be delighted to receive them.31
Pak also reported verbally to the emperor on current conditions in Korea and conveyed the king’s hope that Japan would give financial aid to Korea to help preserve its independence. After his return to Korea, he and Kim Ok-kyun organized a new, progressive party that sought, with Japanese help, to free Korea from the shackles of Chinese domination and the accumulated burden of old evils. For these men, Japan was the model for the enlightenment they hoped to bring to Korea.32
The year ended on this rather optimistic note, although some members of the government warned against provoking China into a war that might last tens of years.33 On December 23, 1882, Emperor Meiji issued a rescript that opened, “It is my earnest desire to preserve peace throughout the East. However, on this occasion there has been a request made by Korea, and we, with the friendship of a neighboring nation, plan to assist their ability to maintain their autonomy. We also intend to persuade other countries to recognize Korea as an independent country.” One senses behind these words the causes that would lead twelve years later to the Sino-Japanese War.
Chapter 37
The familiar New Year ceremonies opened 1883. On January 4 the emperor attended the first meeting of the year of the Genrō-in, and on January 18, at the first poetry meeting in the palace, his New Year poem was composed on the topic “The Four Seas Are Pure.”
This year the emperor’s fondness for riding seems to have revived: he rode fifty-one times, generally ending his riding practice either with a visit to the Aoyama Palace, the residence of the empress dowager, or with a drinking party at the pavilion in the Shinjuku Royal Park.
The emperor occasionally took pleasure also in the performances of nō at the Aoyama Palace or at the nō theater opened in Shiba Park on April 16, 1881. The emperor and empress, along with members of the imperial family, councillors, officers of the Imperial Household Ministry, and so forth attended a particularly brilliant program of eight nō and six kyōgen on May 23, 1883, at the Aoyama Palace. Nō seemed to be on its way to being once again recognized as the official “music” of the regime, but despite regular gifts from the empress dowager, its most generous patron, there was not enough money to support the actors or to train successors. Not until the beginning of the twentieth century were the livelihoods of performers of nō made financially secure.1
The emperor probably took greater pleasure in the nō than in the lectures delivered before him this year. They were given by Motoda Nagazane on a section of the Analects, by Nishimura Shigeki on the Japanese translation of J. K. Bluntschli’s Allgemeines Staatsrecht, by Takasaki Masakaze on the preface to the Kokinshū, and by Kawada Ōko on Jōkan seiyō, a T’ang-period treatise on the art of government.
Although it began promisingly, 1883 would be marked by personal tragedies for the emperor. On January 26 his fourth daughter, Princess Fumiko, was born to the gon no tenji Chigusa Kotoko.2 His third daughter, Princess Akiko, had been born to the same mother on August 3, 1880. As an infant, Akiko had been stricken with meningitis but had responded to treatment and seemed to have been completely cured. With the birth of Fumiko, the emperor had three children—Prince Yoshihito and the two princesses. But this joy did not last long. In August, Princess Akiko’s illness recurred, induced (it was said) by the extreme summer heat, and this time the palace doctors’ efforts to save her life were unsuccessful. She died on September 6. The infant Princess Fumiko, who had suffered from croup ever since her birth, showed symptoms of chronic meningitis on September 1. The emperor sent his personal physician, and when Fumiko’s condition did not improve, he commanded the surgeon general, Hashimoto Tsunatsune (1845–1909), to treat her. Princess Fumiko died two days after her sister.3
Six of the emperor’s seven children had died in infancy. The emperor’s reactions to the deaths of his children were usually not recorded, but in face of this double blow, he was clearly grief stricken. In token of mourning, he canceled court business for a day and commanded that there be no singing or dancing for three days. He also ordered the army to fly flags at half-mast and to fire cannon in solemn tribute. On the day of the funeral, crowds gathered along the streets to watch in sorrow as the little coffins were carried off to the grave.
Asada Sōhaku,4 the physician in attendance on the royal children, asked to be allowed to resign his position because of his failure to cure the two princesses. He
blamed his failure on his having tried by turns Chinese and Western medicine. Despite the recent tragedy, however, the emperor continued to believe in using both to treat illnesses. He appointed the Western-trained Hashimoto as chief medical officer of the palace.5 He, along with two other Western-trained physicians,6 were expected to consult with doctors of traditional medicine in prescribing treatment. After the deaths of the princesses, the emperor was more deeply concerned than ever about his one remaining child, the crown prince, whose health had been a problem ever since he was born.7
The emperor’s own health also suffered this year: in September he had an another attack of beriberi. The emperor’s beriberi was, fortunately, not malignant, but, the doctors argued, it might well become so in Tōkyō, the most dangerous place for infection. They advised building a detached palace perhaps sixty or seventy miles from Tōkyō at a place with beautiful surroundings and pure air and urged the emperor to spend the dangerous time of year away from Tōkyō.8 Needless to say, Meiji once again ignored their advice.
The doctors also expressed their grief over the deaths of the six princes and princesses, all of them victims of the same disease: meningitis. They believed that any royal infants who were born in the future should be brought up differently from the traditional palace customs. They recommended that a palace be built where the children might escape the summer heat. More important, they ascribed the deaths to some inborn infirmity and recommended all possible precautions be taken for their health from the time their mother’s pregnancy was first recognized. The emperor gladly agreed to these suggestions. A palace was subsequently built at Hakone, and residences at Nikkō and elsewhere. The royal children born to the emperor’s concubines were sent to these houses when it was thought they needed a change of air, but the emperor himself, who gave little thought to his health, never stayed at any of them. The emperor seems to have been happiest when he managed to get away from the court for a few days to observe maneuvers.9